Substance
by lazysunday30
Summary: After three marriages and three divorces you didn't give up so easily when someone like Andrea Sachs came along.


_This is just a little one-shot I found sort of writing itself. It's not anywhere near where I like things to be before I upload them, but I also couldn't just let it sit on my computer. __I hope someone can enjoy it._

* * *

When they saw each other again it was nine years later. Both women had changed, of course, but there was something tethering them together all the same. After nine years. It was a wonder.

Their friendship came easily. Both putting aside their history – the ugly parts of it at least. No mention of Paris. They'd both made mistakes. No mention of Harry Potter or the first Book delivery. It just wasn't necessary. They'd moved on. Grown up.

Andy had gone back to see her family a few times throughout the years. She got the same questions every time, too. "When will you be married?" and "When will we see grandchildren?" Andy didn't have the heart to tell them that their dreams of a perfect family for her might never come true. That she might be sucked into the abyss of journalism. It was a dark and scary place – at least it could be – and for some reason she felt at home there. There weren't any false niceties. No faked smiles. The truth, that's all she'd ever wanted. The cold hard truth.

The cold hard truth turned out to be a little more than she could handle. Seeing Miranda again was like a blow to the stomach. _Oh._ _Well that explains a lot._ And she knew she'd never bring home the perfect family, at least according to her parents. Her perfect family was not theirs, and her perfect family was probably unattainable. So she resigned herself to friendship.

Miranda didn't know what to think when she ran into the woman who'd left her nine years prior. Well, for the most part she didn't know what to think. She knew that the woman would have to stay in her life. There was no getting around that.

After three marriages and three divorces you didn't give up so easily when someone like Andrea Sachs came along. And so their friendship was easy.

"Do you ever think of death?" she asked one night.

"Yes." There was a long pause. They were sitting on the terrace with wine. A custom. "It makes me think of how large the universe actually is. How insignificant we are."

"Does it make you… I don't know – sad?"

"Sometimes." The older woman turned toward her younger companion. "It makes me think that all the money and fame and power – it's nothing, really. It doesn't live up."

"Does anything live up?"

"Love does. Family."

There came a point where Andy couldn't handle their friendship any longer. Not the way it was. Not like this. She couldn't be part of the woman's life and not have her know. Fearing the worst, however, she pushed past her feelings for months. Of course her friend knew when something was bothering her. They were attuned to each other that way. Andy thought it made the situation all the worse.

"Andrea, what's the matter?"

She gave a small smile. "Nothing, nothing. Just a long day."

"It's always a long day. This is something else."

"Don't worry about it."

"I can't help myself."

There was very little she could do to dodge the questions. The older woman knew her too well. She knew the older woman too well. But this. She could lose everything over this. And Miranda was all she had left.

"You should just say it."

"What?"

"Whatever it is that's bothering you."

"Maybe some things are better left unsaid."

"Maybe," a white head bobbed slowly, acquiescing. "Then again, maybe not."

A grimaced settled over the younger woman's features. She didn't avert her eyes though. No, this was too important.

"Maybe I'm in love with you."

Nothing registered on the Editor's face for a moment. Then, a smile. Slight, like when she found something amusing.

"Well, I'm not sure love deals in maybe's."

"No. It doesn't."

"I thought not."

And it wasn't spoken of again until the morning, when Andy found herself in bed with a very sleepy woman. Miranda grumbled lazily about food, pushing Andy out of bead teasingly in her attempt to get fed.

And so the friendship continued, albeit more playfully, and sometimes nights turned into mornings turned into afternoons. Andy thought nothing was missing. And nine years apart turned into over forty years together. And then one day she was gone. And the other thought about death and the universe. Money hadn't made a difference, no. But there was love. And that, above all else, made death and the universe acceptable.

* * *

FIN.


End file.
